He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said.
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